


Care of Wm. McBride, Pvt 1st c.

by Cluegirl



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Flash Fic, Gen, Pre-Slash If You Squint, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-06
Updated: 2014-02-06
Packaged: 2018-01-11 10:01:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1171745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cluegirl/pseuds/Cluegirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s crouched low before he thinks about it, before the golden faceplate’s even stopped spinning on the gravel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Care of Wm. McBride, Pvt 1st c.

**Author's Note:**

> Composed in my Tumblr, inspired by [this](https://31.media.tumblr.com/cb0d81fccf981c70a34ff7708e9d44f6/tumblr_mxzjgppENP1s7dhr7o1_500.png). I'm not sorry.

He’s crouched low before he thinks about it; before the golden faceplate’s even stopped spinning on the gravel; before he’s taken more than a glance at Stark’s pale, still, (too damned still) face. 

He bends across the man, and he tells himself he expects Stark to snicker in his ear, to insult him, to call him a fairy, or even just to pull a puckish ‘Gotcha’ at Steve’s expense, and that would be fine.

That would be just great. Steve would be good with that, serve him back an eyeroll, help him to his feet, and it would be… 

So still. So quiet. 

There’s no gust of damp heat across his cheek, no whisper chill breeze past his sweaty temple. Stark’s not breathing. Neither is Steve, though his lungs cramp for want of it, though his ribs ache and his belly quivers and the blood throbs around his head so loudly he thinks he might not hear a breath even if the damned fool genius were to steal one.

Stark’s not breathing. 

He sits back on his heels, blows out a wheeze of pointless, aching regret and skates one hand over the scarred breastplate, the blue light he hadn’t known he was already used to seeing there gone dead and cold. He doesn’t know how to get the armor open -- realizes after a second, that even if he could, it probably wouldn’t be possible to press on Tony’s chest to remind his damnfool heart what it was supposed to be doing.

Tony’s tangled in the wire, and Steve’s heart sinks into the realization that there’s nothing he can do to get the man loose. There’s time to fight for the fallen this time, to go back for their own and bring them home without having to fight HYDRA, the elements, or aliens to do it. That's thanks to Tony’s line drive triple header through the wormhole, but time is worthless when there’s no help to be tendered, no rescue to be made. 

Steve blinks back the bitter thought that there is, once again, nothing he can do.

 _"We’re Not Soldiers!"_ Stark had bit at him, and maybe that was true for Stark, but that doesn’t make losing him to the battle any easier. At least this time there's a body. Steve at least will be able to bring Howard’s boy back home, lay him down in the earth beside his Pa, and let him rest properly. From the little Steve saw of him before the battle, that’s not something Tony Stark did much.

He sighs, caresses the dead arc reactor one more time, and tries to get his head back into the remnants of the fight. They still have to secure the field, to amend the damage, to rescue the civilians still in danger, to take stock and stabilize and… maybe a second longer with Tony, just to get his breath. 

Only a second though; the Hulk’s getting restless.


End file.
